Marcus Severns writes

Three Storms

 Three winds in my head,

              A soft wind from the west,

                           A cold wind from the south,

              And east blows a tropical wind.

              They meet in the center,

                           As a migraine,

               And the lights go out.

                           All is black peripheral

                           And the center is flickering rainbows,

                                    With a sick swirl half-color

                                    Half void

                           Like oil spilled across a rain puddle.

 If I could see the screen on the phone,

                          I'd call into work.

My left hand rubs my pants,

             My right drums fingers and thumb

              Across the glass of my telephone.

             With head leaned back on the couch,

                           I let out a sigh.

             Cluster storm migraine,

                           From both hemispheres,

                           With occipital lobe disturbances.

There is a pattern here,

             But I was too busy worried about Christmas

             I forgot to notice them –

                            Like checking the weather every so often –

These things can be predicted.

 Perhaps

 Something in me

 Wanted a day off.

                                   It's okay

                                   If it's medical,

                                           They'll understand --

                                   I'll just take this day

                                           To watch the rainy colors in my head.

 

 Storm -- Robert Civello